NINETEEN
DEAN
“Just…tell me the truth, man. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, just… shoot me fuckin’ straight,” West says, the entire plea coming out in a sighed rush. He tugs at the ends of his hair, pacing the aisle between desks in my classroom. I glance at the clock. He’s been in here spinning out for like, ten minutes. I love the guy, but I also love my free period. Fantasy football and half a tuna sub is waiting, you know?
“Okay… first I need to know what I’m telling the truth about.” I stack my boots on my desk and lean back, stretching.
West finally stops, bracing his hands on his hips. “Is dating another teacher a completely ridiculous, stupid and insane thing to do?”
I drop my boots to the floor. Shit just got interesting. As a man, I do not consider myself a gossip by nature. I could go my entire life without knowing the inner workings, bad habits and secrets of the people around me in my community. Honestly. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but an enthusiastic detachment kept the football coach alive.
However.
Nearly twenty years spent in the halls of a high school has changed me.
Days can get boring.
A little gossip here and there has become exciting, and in some cases and on some days, the highlight reel.
Not to mention, I eat lunch with mostly women, and have every day for years. Even if I don’t want to know, it’s not like I can turn my listening off. And simply being at that lunch table has made me privy to a lot of things, like Mr. Cunningham’s retirement, when the swim team got funding cut, that time ausedcondom was found in the science building bathroom, and when we added pizza pockets to the cafeteria menu.
Good stuff.
West is usually pretty reserved. He dishes advice, he’s loyal and present in my life, but when it comes to himself, he always claims I already know the most interesting things about him.
He’s from Oakcreek, but moved to Bluebell six years ago when he and his wife divorced. He’s got a degree in physical education, and another one in educational leadership.
He’s tall.
Hmm, what else?
Oh, he doesn’t like fancy coffee. Drinks it bold and black, just like me.
“Who are you gonna date? Who’s chasing after you?” I ask, running down an entire roster of teachers in my mind. For a while, about a year ago, I wondered if he was still caught up on his ex, but after learning that she recently remarried one day while scrolling Facebook on his phone at the lunch table, he seemed to have no reaction.
He sighs, slipping into one of the student tables, dropping his head flat onto the surface.
“Dude, they sneeze all over those things.”
He lifts his head with a grimace on his face, swiping at his forehead with his hand. “Gross.”
“They can be, yeah.” I narrow my eyes, and prod him with my pointed gaze. “Who are you thinking of dating?”
“Cadence Caine,” he says, tipping his head to the side. “Alright, I’m ready. Let me hear how stupid I am.”
I open my mouth, but my classroom door swings open, and Leah saunters in. Today she’s wearing a carousel pink suit, and an emerald blouse, her earrings an amalgamation of colors. Her hair is in a ponytail, sleek and tight, and her name badge swings from her lanyard as she braces her hands on her hips. “Well fuck.”
I tip my head toward the table where West is sitting, mid mini-drama. She follows my lead, and spots him. “Oh.” Leah slouches. “If I walked all the way to your classroom and you can’t talk?—.”
West gives her a two-finger salute. “He’s all yours. I was just leaving.”
She looks between West and myself, then settles on West. “No, don’t go because of me. My thing can wait.”
West waves her off, giving me a wave as he heads toward the door. “Forget it. My thing was dumb. Your thing is probably actually important.” He nods my way as he pushes against the door with his ass. “Later, Dean.”
I snatch my sandwich from my cooler and unroll it. “What’s your thing?”
Leah sits down across from me at a small desk. “What’s his thing?”
